


Safety Line

by DeanneA



Category: Scomiche - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanneA/pseuds/DeanneA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott meets a very interesting person at a park, or does he?  A random one-shot gone crazy in which Mitch is a patient in a mental hospital but Scott is the one who worries about his sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety Line

I was late, so freaking late. I planned to get up early, I always do, but most days that just doesn't happen. I should have skipped my morning run but I didn't run yesterday, so I threw on my shorts and a tank and grabbed my ipod before slipping out the front door. 

25 minutes, I told myself. 3 miles and done. I took my normal route because I didn't want to risk getting lost, or with me, more likely distracted. I'd run this 3-mile route at least 40 times since I'd mapped it out, so I could finally pass by the music store, the Starbucks, the crazy consignment store where I never bought anything but always wanted to, and the small gorgeous park with the statue. 

When I'd first started running, I'd stopped at the park the first few times I'd passed it. Okay, well the first time I stopped at Starbucks and then walked home, but, moving on.... the statue. It wasn't what you'd expect, some giant man with a sword on horseback or soldiers marching off to war. It was a woman with a small child, sitting on a bench. They were looking down, and on the ground in front of them was a beautiful circular tile mural. Their bench formed one of a ring of benches around the mosaic, so you could sit and be 'part' of the art. 

The woman, who I guess was the childs mother, was pointing to the circle, trying to show the child something. The thing is, the tile mural was completely unrecognizable. It was very abstract, and every time I looked at it I thought I had it figured out but the next time I'd come back, it would seem different. It reminded me of one of those psychological ink tests.

I had been sitting on a bench in that circle a few times a week for about a month when someone from the street called out to me. I walked over cautiously, but she backed away when I got close. "No" she had told me, in a heavy accent. "No sit there. Dangerous. Not good place." I asked her why and she searched for the word, finally telling me that it was "Haunted. Ghosts." I had resumed my run that morning realizing that I had never, in all my passes by and visits, seen anyone else sitting there. There was no trash and no graffitti. Everyone else seemed to avoid it like the plague.

Today, as I neared the park, I noticed someone sitting. Not only there, at the park, but in the very bench I always sat at. I couldn't stop, I was already late, but I couldn't not. I slowed and then walked the last 20 feet, trying to calm my breathing down. I convinced myself to keep going but that decision was swept away when the young man at the bench turned and looked at me.

The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing scrubs, well, sort of. He definately looked like a doctor, or nurse, except that he was very gaunt and had huge circles under his eyes. Residency? His eyes though, those dark, ringed eyes just stared right at me and then through me, pulling me in. He was gorgeous, and mesmerizing, so I accepted his wordless invitation and sat down across from him.

"Hi, I'm Scott."

"Mitch. 3189"

"I've never seen anyone here before."

"I'm not supposed to be here. Are you going to take me back?"

Okay, officially weird. I couldn't help but think that this was a good time to make an exit, but as I sat watching him stare at the mural, I had to ask. "Do you know what it is?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"No clue Mitch. Tell me?"

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, yes it is. But what IS it?"

"It's beautiful. Isn't that enough? Why does it have to 'be' something that you have another word for? Art is for crazy people, I should know."

He was right, beautiful should really be enough. I'd stop trying to figure it out and just enjoy. I needed to go, but I wasn't sure if I could leave him here. "You asked if I was going to take you back. To where? Are you okay being here?"

"I just wanted to breathe and see something beautiful, but I'm tired. The drugs make me tired."

"Are you sick, should you be at the hospital?" Suddenly his scrubs and tired eyes made sense.

"They say I am. I'm at Wilkens."

Oh shit, the mental hospital. Okay, breathe. "I could call them if you want?"

"I'll walk with you, it's just up the street."

He seemed calm, and willing to go so I stood, hoping this was going to be quick and easy. He fell into step beside me but I had to slow a lot going up the hill. I tried to put my arm around him to help him up but he jerked away, staring at me as if he was afraid. "It's okay, I'm just trying to help."

"Please don't touch me. I just..... need a minute" He sat on the curb, breathing deeply, then stood and started back up the road. "This is me" he said, pointing to the front door of the large white building. "I know what the park really is, you know. If you come back to visit I'll tell you." And with that, he walked in through the wide doors and disappeared.

Needless to say, I was really, really late by the time I finally got to practice that afternoon. I told everyone about 'Mitch' and couldn't get him off my mind. Driving home afterwards I found myself parked in front of Wilkens without planning it. My subconcious soon had me walking through the doors and asking when visiting hours were.

The next day at precisely 10 am I was standing in front of that desk again. "Hi, I'm here to see Mitch."

"Last name? Number?" the stern older woman asked me.

"I, I don't know. I brought him back yesterday. The brunette. Wait, 3-something?"

She sighed loudly, staring at me. "I wasn't on shift when you 'brought him back' so I have no idea. All our numbers start with 3. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"No, I need to see him. Um, wait, the blonde nurse, she was here when I came back yesterday afternoon, maybe she knows? Don't you make a note of which patients go randomly walking through the city!??" 

A dark haired man who had been passing by paused at that. "He must be referring to Mr. Grassi. 3189." He turned and looked at me. "Thank you for returning him safely."

"3189. Okay, sir, please have a seat while we bring him to the lounge." She motioned me towards a row of tiny, uncomfortable looking chairs.

A few minutes later I was walking through a door into what appeared to be a very empty school cafeteria, minus the food. It was linoleum everywhere, and bright yellow, and completely sterile. Mitch was seated at a table with a young woman dressed in brightly colored nurses scrubs. I walked over and sat down across from him. "Hi Mitch."

"Hi...." he faltered.

"Scott" I offered.

"Scott." he answered, grinning.

He was adorable when he grinned, all dimples. "I was hoping we could talk about the park, and the mural. You said you would tell me what it is?"

"It's a sewer cover."

"What?"

"That's why it's raised, and that size. It's a manhole."

"But why the benches? Why the woman? Why is it so pretty?"

"The benches are to remember and sit on, the woman is trying to tell her child that they have to go in the hole. It's pretty because their souls are beautiful, because it can be, because everything should be."

I stared at the nurse who was looking at me equally confused. "But why would they go in there?"

"They were hiding, during the war. They all died though, hiding didn't save them. It's a memorial." He looked up at me, tears in his eyes. "Will you come back sometime? I know lots of things. Sometimes I can't remember them, but I'll try. Will you come back?"

"Yes, definitely Mitch. I can't promise tomorrow, but I'll come again, alright?"

"Are you sorry I told you? Beauty should have been enough."

"No, I'm glad I know the story. And I'm glad I know you. See you soon Mitch."

*** *** ***  
I dragged myself out of bed a few weeks later and grabbed shorts and a tank. I had been running for almost 6 months now, and this was second nature enough that I could almost do it in his sleep. Almost. Too bad I couldn't do the second mile of my run asleep as well.

I had moved up to 4 and a half miles, mostly to avoid running by the park, and memories of Mitch. The damn boy had gotten into my head and I found myself driven crazy with questions. What was he doing at Wilkens? How did he know about the mural? What *else* did he know? Why couldn't I forget about the boy who saw beauty when his world was so, so, NOT?

I'd been giving myself goals ever since that morning. Stay away through the weekend. One week. Then the end of the month. I told myself repeatedly that I would forget about Mitch long before now but if anything, the desire to see him again only grew. Without thinking, I found myself taking off my shorts and changing into pants but then thought black and an asylum might NOT be a good mix. 

Wow, really overthinking this thing, aren't we?

I finished getting dressed, headed out to grab breakfast, and walked in the front door of Wilkens at precisely 10 am. "Good morning. Is it possible to see Mitch Grassi? 3189?"

The young man typed a moment on his keyboard and then looked up, an empathetic frown on his face. "I'm sorry, he's not able to have visitors today. He has a possible clearance date of, next Wednesday, the 10th."

"But why? Is he okay?" I asked, worried more than it seemed he should be for a boy I'd met twice.

"I'm sorry, I can't divulge patient information. If you're his advocate, I can make you an appointment with his doctors." 

The young nurse did truly look unhappy about it, so I tried to redirect his frustration. "Look, maybe you can help? I don't know. You see, I don't know Mitch all that well but I promised him I'd come back and visit. Is there anything I can do? Write him a letter or talk to anyone to get him a message? Just so he knows I was here?"

"Sorry Mr........"

"Hoying. Scott Hoying. Scott is fine, please."

"Okay, Scott" he smiled. "I can give him a letter, after it's approved of course, but the thing is that he won't know who you are or even be able to read it right now." He looked around, making sure they were alone. "They added Zyprexa to his drug cocktail and he's just not handling things well right now. They'll get the dosage figured out and he'll be better in a few weeks, but right now he's not, well, he's not himself."

"Alright. Thanks. So, I could try on the 10th?"

"Yes. If he's not cleared by then, they would have a better estimate. These things take time. Hey, Scott?"

"Mmm?" I answered, looking back up at the nurse.

"Mitch is a good person, under it all. It's nice of you to come see him."

"Thanks. I'll uh, I'll be back." I walked out of the doors a bit numb, then got in my car and headed home. Once there, I turned right back around and drove to the park, and the bench. I sat staring at the sewer cover, trying to imagine going down there. I looked back up the street towards Wilkens, wishing I had gone back weeks ago but there was nothing to be done now but wait.

I spent the next week trying to figure out how to spell Zyprexa and figure out what it was for. Apparently Mitch was schizophrenic which wasn't quite as scary as it sounded once I did some research. Yes, it absolutely sucked for Mitch but he wasn't a threat to me.

Finally, the 10th dawned, rainy and cold, well, coldish. It never really got cold in Los Angeles. I threw on a sweater and headed over, hoping that Mitch was feeling better. When I walked in, the same young man from last time was there, giving me hope that at least he could get some information, even if I didn't get to see him. "Hi. Is Mitch doing better? 3189?"

"Oh, hi, yes, I remember you. Let me look.... Yes, he's marked as available. I'll send someone over to check on him and see if he's feeling up to seeing a visitor."

I was for some reason extremely, what? Nervous? Anxious? Worried? I sat and thought about whether or not those were all really the same thing until the phone on the desk rang and the nurse gave me a smile. I walked into the sunshine cafeteria but didn't see Mitch yet, so I sat down at the same table we'd been at before, and waited.

I heard the door open on the adjacent wall and turned, then sucked in my breath. Mitch. He was being helped by a nurse, head down and feet shuffling. I tried to hide the shock on my face as Mitch fumbled, unable to get his legs under the table. He sat backwards while the nurse fetched a chair and put it at the end of the table. Once he was finally situated, he looked up at Scott with a completely blank look. "Hi Mitch." My tongue felt heavy in my mouth but I tried to say it cheerfully.

"Hello...."

"Scott" I grinned.

"Scott."

Words failed me. Absolutely nothing I could say sounded even near appropriate. How are you? Answer -- awful. Feeling better? Better than when I couldn't get out of bed? Yes, I'm fucking great. I was at a loss. "I went to the park last week."

"Park?"

"Yes, the memorial park with the woman on the bench and the manhole. You told me all about it, remember?"

A look of confusion crossed his face, his eyes roaming the room but not seeing anything.

"Where we met?"

He looked at the nurse next to him. "Was that real?"

"Yes, of course" I answered, not giving the nurse a chance. "You left the hospital and I saw you there, and I brought you back. I visited and you told me about it, about the sewer and the people going in."

"That's not real Scott. There's no park."

I frowned, knowing it wasn't Mitch's fault but wishing he would remember. It was important to me for some reason, this connection we had made. 

"I'm tired" he said to the nurse. "I need to go to my room."

"But...... can I see you tomorrow?" I asked as the nurse helped Mitch up.

"Maybe later, okay?" He shuffled back towards the door with the nurse, his breathing labored, straining to hold himself up much less propel his body forward.

I sighed, then stood and walked out the door. Instead of getting into my car, I walked down the hill to the park but stood on the corner, confused.. I looked right, yes, the blue house with pink Victorian trim. To my left was the same street sign, the same huge collection of newspaper boxes, the same ratty mom-and-pop grocery. 

But across, across where the park should be was nothing but an abandoned, empty lot. Gone were the 3 trees on the left, 6 benches, a stone woman and child, and a beautiful tile mosaic. Now it was barren ground littered with trash, an old fence feebly attempting to block it off. 

I felt, rather than saw, the old woman come up to him. I turned, my face ashen and questioning.

"Bad place. You no go there. Sad. Ghosts." 

I glanced back across the street and when I turned quickly back to her, she was gone. 

*** *** ***  
I don't know how long I stood there, staring across the street at the lot. People came and went, cars drove by, their worlds' seemingly unaffected. Finally, I turned and trudged back up the hill, towards Wilkens. I wasn't sure at this point what I would find. Would my car be there? Would the hospital? Was I going crazy?

Just before I crested the hill I sat, in the same place Mitch and I had sat a few weeks ago, waiting for him to catch his breath. This time I was trying to find the courage to face what was in front of me. This made no sense, it was impossible. The park HAD been there; I wasn't crazy. I stood, then walked the few steps up until I could see Wilkens. Yes, it was there. So was my car. Nothing had changed.

I almost laughed, ashamed at myself for being such a dumbass and being so worried. I wished I could go inside and talk to Mitch but I knew he was drugged out of his mind and not having a good day. I jumped into my car and headed back to the apartment, and my computer.

I spent two hours googling and searching for the story of the manhole and people hiding in the sewers during a war. I didn't have any details though, and my search proved pretty fruitless. I found a lot about Polish Jews hiding during the Holocaust, and a movie that had been made about it, but I just assumed that it had happened here. I needed to ask Mitch.

I called and rearranged my day so that I could walk into Wilkens at 10 am the next morning. I didn't drive by the park on my way though, I wasn't quite ready to face it. "Hi, can I see Mitch, 3189?" I was told to wait a few minutes, as usual, so I sat in the ridiculously tiny chair and tried to clear my head. As soon as the nurse gave me a nod, I went into the 'lounge' and there he was, sitting in a chair near the corner. He looked a little better, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. "Hi Mitch."

"Hi. I didn't think you'd come back."

"Do you mind?" I asked, worried that I was making things harder for him.

"No. I asked you to come, right?" He looked straight at me today and his eyes weren't so dark. He had that mischevious little grin on his face too, which I had missed more than I realized.

"Are you feeling better today?" I asked, glad that he was.

"Maybe. My short-term memory isn't so good. I don't really remember much of yesterday."

"Probably for the best, honestly. Can I ask you something? I need your help."

"Um, yeah..... I forgot your name though."

"Scott"

"Sure Scott, ask away."

"Okay, I'm not sure how to say this, but.... Wait, sorry. I should have thought this through better. Do you remember us talking about the park? With the sewer?"

"Oh, beauty."

"Yes, you said it was beautiful."

"Then it probably was."

"But now it's gone." I didn't want to confuse him, but I needed answers and he seemed to be the only one who knew what the hell was going on.

"Beauty is gone?"

"In a sense. It was a park and now it's an abandoned, dirty lot. I don't understand. How???"

"You really shouldn't say things like that here, Scott." He looked at me, dead serious for a moment, and then laughed. It was the most beautiful sound I'd heard in months, if ever. "Would you take me to eat? I would kill for McDonalds. No, wait, I don't mean kill. I swear. I just haven't had one in years. I mean, sometime. Not now. I shouldn't ask, never mind. Sorry. Will you come back?"

"I will absolutely take you out, if you're allowed." The words fell from my lips but I regretted them, didn't I?

"We could eat at the park."

"No, we can't. It's not real. You said so and then it was true."

"You believed me? Silly boy. Go talk to Dr. Paul, he's in charge of me. Find out if I can go. Please?"

Somehow I found myself telling him I would, and then telling him good-bye. On the way out I stopped at the desk and found myself filling out paperwork to take Mitch for a 2-hour 'release'. 

*** *** ***

I turned down the offer of a nurse to accompany us without hesitation, but now that Mitch was settled next to me in the passengers seat, I was having doubts.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked. They had assured me he was having a great day, but perhaps their idea of good and mine were different.

"You wanted McDonalds, right? We can do something else if you'd rather though." I offered, staring too long.

"Really? I'd love a happy meal. Can I get nuggets?"

"Not hard to please, are you? You can have anything you want." I put the car into reverse and headed further up the hill, away from 'our' park. I'd been avoiding the area like a plague for the past two weeks. I wanted to talk to Mitch before I went back.

"It's really pretty out. Can I put down my window?"

"Sure" I put it down a tad, not wanting to give him control in case he tried to open his door, or freaked out. "That enough?"

"Yeah. The air feels nice. It's easier to breath out here."

I thought about that comment the rest of the way to the restaurant and gave thanks for so many things in my life that I normally take for granted. I was healthy, and so free. I tried to shake off the feeling of sadness that overcame me when I thought of Mitch being so excited about nuggets and fresh air, but when I parked the car and looked over at him, it was all forgotten. His eyes were about as big as dinner plates and were as bright as the sun. His grin was almost bigger than his dimples, and he was bouncing slightly in his seat. "Ready to go in?"

"It smells so good. Can you smell it?" he asked, giddy.

"Yeah, I can. It tastes even better though. Wait, do you want to go in or we could do the drive thru and eat in the car. What works best for you?"

"Maybe the drive thru? There are a lot of people in there."

I pulled through and ended up with 4 bags of food because I wanted Mitch to have everything he wanted. We parked in the shade and opened the windows, then put the seats back and dug in. "Hey, Mitch? I need your help with the park."

"Oh yeah, we could go eat there if you want. I like it." he answered, nibbling one fry at a time.

"So I just somehow, even though I'd been there 30 times, forgot where it was and got lost when I was looking for it? I'm scared I'm losing my mind." 

Mitch dropped his food and looked at me. "Don't joke, it's not funny."

"I'm not! There was a creepy ghost-lady who told me it was haunted and the damn thing disappeared. This shit does not happen! It's impossible." I realized how loud I had gotten, noticed how dark Mitch's eyes were becoming. "I'm sorry. I'm fine, just confused."

"You've seen too many movies."

"That's not an answer. Does it exist or not? Is it real?"

"You're asking me? You sound like my doctors. Can we talk about something else?" He dipped his nugget carefully, coating 3 sides with sweet and sour sauce before eating it. " Look, there is no 'real.' So, what, because you couldn't see it means it doesn't exist? Tell that to the air, or to fear."

I leaned my head back and stared out the windshield, focusing on eating my sandwich while his words sank in. A park wasn't an emotion, or invisible though, it wasn't the same thing, right?

"What does your head say?"

"My head is very confused."

"Your conscience, or whatever normal people call their heads. What does it say?"

"Are the voices you hear like another conscience voice? Is that what it's like?" I had read that it was different for everyone, that even the doctors couldn't figure out why the symptoms were so random and varied from person to person, but I wanted to understand.

"It's like standing in one of those stores with all the TV's and they're all on different channels, and loud. And the radio is playing and the room is full of smoke and I'm trying to hear you. Sometimes. Or it's like watching a movie in a dark room and you can't turn your head. Or like reading a book for 7 straight hours and then closing it, and forgetting that you're in your own bed. But most of the time, I don't know. It just is. The drugs help the voices, mostly. They don't fix the other stuff though. I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"You told me the park wasn't real, Mitch. But we sat in it, and talked. I've been there lots of times. But then last time I went......... it was gone. Like it never existed. How is that possible?"

"Maybe you just didn't want to see it. You've got to let the beauty in Scott. Oooh, pie."


End file.
